


Till the Birds Fly Home

by Silkette



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Almyra (Fire Emblem), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bigotry & Prejudice, Canon-Typical Violence, Claude never came to Fodlan, Culture Shock, Cyril is the only one with a braincell, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, POV Alternating, Period-Typical Racism, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Slavery, and house leader, it goes both ways, so Lorenz is heir to the Alliance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:40:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29800311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silkette/pseuds/Silkette
Summary: When Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, the future Sovereign Duke of the Leicester Alliance, is captured and taken to Almyra, he ends up as a slave to none other than crown prince Claude von Riegan.How are either of them going to survive this arrangement?
Relationships: Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Claude von Riegan, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 42





	Till the Birds Fly Home

**Author's Note:**

> This idea has just been living rent free in my brain and refused to leave until I wrote it. So please enjoy some AU claurenz goodness!

He should never have left camp.

Professor Byleth had warned him as much, had told Lorenz that setting off alone was a bad idea. The battle with Acheron was won but it was still foolish to ride for Gloucester without proper protection. Yet Lorenz hadn’t listened and had brushed off the Professor’s concerns with flippancy. The bridge where they’d confronted Acheron was only a scant few miles from the Gloucester border and Lorenz had been perfectly confident he could make it home by himself. He’d grown up in and around this territory and he knew it like the back of his hand.

There was little trouble to be found here, the sole exception being when Acheron was up to his usual tricks, but he was thankfully out of commission now after their _disagreement._

Their task was done and the risk seemed minimal, so Lorenz had requested he be allowed to make a brief detour back to his family’s estate before their convoy returned to Garreg Mach. Byleth had surprised him by disagreeing, a barely there hint of concern passing briefly over the Professor’s normally blank face.

“Even if it is a short trip, it’s still dangerous to go off alone,” he said. “What if you ran into more of Acheron’s men? Or demonic beasts? There’d be no one there to help you.”

Lorenz completely disagreed. Acheron’s thugs were easily dealt with, as they’d just proven, and in the very unlikely event he ran into a demonic beast or two, Belladonna was more than capable of carrying him to safety. The speed of a Gloucester thoroughbred could not be beat, except perhaps by that of an Aegir horse. He wasn’t usually in the habit of arguing with teachers, it didn’t do for a house leader to quarrel and squabble like an ornery fishwife, but their after battle discussion was a rare exception. He couldn’t accept Byleth’s answer without doing all he could to try and make him change his mind.

For Lorenz was a noble on a mission. Not the monthly task he’d just completed with Byleth and the Deer, but rather a mission to report to his father post haste. Count Gloucester had promised in his letter that should Lorenz succeed in dealing with Acheron, he would _finally_ consider him worthy of wielding their family’s most prized treasure.

Yes, Lorenz was to receive Thyrsus, the relic of Gloucester, at long last.

It was for this reason he had to rein in positive giddiness when the battle ended after he personally took down Acheron. It wouldn’t do for him to lose control of his emotions and leap about cheering like an overexcited peasant, even if he rather wanted to.

Lorenz watched two of his soldiers put the cursing Acheron in chains, then ordered he be taken to Derdriu for punishment. Unfortunately it was unlikely he’d get more than a slap on the wrist, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be treated like the criminal he was. Then, Acheron taken care of, Lorenz nudged Belladonna into a trot over to Byleth. He’d eagerly told the Blue Lions’ Professor his wonderful news, followed by his plan to make a quick detour to Gloucester Manse, and that’s when their argument had begun. Lorenz had believed his request a perfectly reasonable one and was surprised and put out by Byleth’s objections. Who knew when he’d get another chance to visit home after this. His father would never send Thyrsus by courier, it was far too valuable. If Lorenz didn’t go to pick the staff up personally, it wasn’t leaving Gloucester at all.

He’d told all this to Byleth, but it made no difference. Acheron’s uprising had done a lot of damage to the surrounding villages and the knights had already been dispatched to help the commoners. They couldn’t spare any of their number for a battalion escort.

Lorenz had no objection to this, those with the power should always help those in need, but he didn’t see why it meant he had to waste such a golden opportunity.

“We’re so close, Professor!” He’d beseeched. “I could be there and back before our convoy even sets out. I promise I would not delay you.”

Byleth shook his head.

“I’m sorry, Lorenz, but the answer is still no. It’s my responsibility to protect you without Professor Hanneman here.”

“I know that, Professor,” Lorenz argued. “But surely in light of my prowess on the battlefield today-“

“No, it’s too risky,” Byleth interrupted him. “I know how much wielding Thyrsus means to you, so I promise I’ll talk with Lady Rhea about getting you a short leave of absence when we get back. That’s the best I can do for now.”

“But-“

“No buts,” Byleth put up his hand, tone one of finality. “We can’t spare anyone to look after you and that’s that. Please stop asking.”

Then he’d left to check with Marianne on the state of the wounded, while Lorenz seethed furiously at his choice of words.

“Look after him”? As if he were some helpless infant instead of the noble and dashing Lorenz Hellman Gloucester? Did this - this _jumped up mercenary_ really think Lorenz incapable of riding a few miles through his own territory? It was absurd! His pride was beyond stung!

He refused to stand for it.

Mind made up, he’d waited until no one was looking and then snuck out of camp, taking the road through a nearby patch of woods so he wouldn’t be spotted while everyone else dealt with post-battle clean up. Normally Lorenz would be in the thick of it; barking orders, seeing to repairs, checking the injured were receiving proper care, and a host of other duties which were the responsibility of a house leader. However, this time he’d passed these important tasks down to Hilda (“Whaaat? You can’t seriously expect me to do it after such an exhausting battle! I’m a delicate little flower, you know!”) and left her to supervise along with the rest of the Deer. He’d told her he was off to fetch Thyrsus and thankfully she hadn’t asked if he’d gotten Byleth’s permission, merely assuming he had and continuing to moan about extra work.

“I’m really not sure I’m up to this! After everything we’ve just been through? I need to rest or who knows what a bad job I’ll do!”

“I have every confidence in you, Hilda,” Lorenz said as he swung back into the saddle. “I’m sure you’ll do a wonderful job.”

There was a short pause, then:

“Urgh, _fine_ ,” Hilda groaned, rolling her eyes and twirling her gigantic double-headed axe like it weighed no more than a baton. “Just don’t get used to this!”

He promised he wouldn’t and left her to grumble.

Lorenz didn’t feel good about disobeying a teacher, even still smarting as he was from Byleth’s comment. He quashed the guilt with the thought of finally holding Thyrsus in his hands, of showing it off to Edelgard and Dimitri and wielding it in battle. Such an honor simply could not be denied. Whatever punishment he received, he’d gladly take. Thyrsus was worth every extra moment of chores or detention. 

Besides, Byleth was wrong and he would be fine. What could happen?

How wrong he was.

Lorenz never saw the attack coming, so confident in his reasoning that he’d grown careless and hadn’t noticed the trouble he was in till it was too late. It happened when he reached the far side of the forest: jumped as soon as the trees had thinned and Belladonna trotted out into the open. Ambushed by a band of six Almyran warriors, all masked and wearing traditional assassins’ robes. They must have been watching him for a long time, at least since the Deer had left Garreg Mach, and had finally made their move once he was alone, patiently lying in wait like snakes ready to strike at the unwary traveller unfortunate enough to step too close.

Lorenz didn’t hear them before they were on him, one seizing Belladonna’s reins and two more lunging to grab him bodily. He’d put up a good fight, but six against one was hopeless and in the end, he’d been dragged from the saddle and pinned on the ground.

He tried to yell for help, but one of them pressed a strange, sweet smelling cloth over his mouth and nose. Whatever it was had his head swimming the moment he breathed in and soon Lorenz’s vision turned dark and he went limp under their hands.

His last coherent thought had been for Belladonna, praying that these thugs would leave her be and some kind soul would find her. Lorenz loved his horse and would hate to think of her suffering because of his childish impatience and lack of impulse control.

How very ironic that all this would be his downfall just as his father finally judged him a man at last.

***

Whatever they’d used to render him unconscious had been potent. Lorenz didn’t wake when they tied him up and tossed him in a sack, nor during the day and night’s mad dash to get back over the Throat and into his captors’ homeland. His kidnappers must have had wyverns waiting for them somewhere close, hidden off-road in the forest perhaps. More evidence that their mission had been planned well in advance rather than just a gang who got lucky and stumbled upon a lone aristocrat on the road.

They’d already landed and set up camp when Lorenz finally came to, still trussed up in the sack like the product of a successful hunt. He was slow to shake off the grogginess and remember what had happened to him, sure that he was stuck in a nightmare and too sleepy to think. He lay there in the dark, listening to the buzz of unfamiliar voices and the sounds of hungry wyverns calling for their dinner.

Ironically it was the slow wearing off of the drug that gifted Lorenz with his chance to escape. If cognitive function had returned more quickly and he’d tried to sit up or move around, they would surely have noticed and knocked him out again. As it was, he had plenty of time to gather his thoughts and check himself over once he came fully awake. He was bruised and battered but nothing seemed to be broken, thank the Goddess. Which meant he was capable of escape, so long as he didn’t do anything rash and ruin his chances.

Lorenz stayed silent and still, waiting for a lull in the muffled noises around him. Quiet meant he was either alone or they were asleep and this was his chance to get away. The wait was torturous, but at last the sounds around him died away. Showtime, as Dorothea would say. Lorenz knew what he had to do and willed himself to remain calm and focus, calling up his magic and letting it just flow through him for the moment. The spell he needed was one he’d only recently learned and was not very familiar with yet. Casting it successfully might take him more than one attempt. 

Lorenz took a deep breath and shut his eyes, the spell forming in his bound hands. He just prayed the sacking was thick enough that the glow of his power would be concealed.

No such luck. No sooner had he begun to cast, than a shout of alarm rang out. Blast it all, one of them had obviously been on watch.

Biting back a few choice words (even beaten and kidnapped by hostile natives of an enemy country was no excuse for coarse language) Lorenz made himself ignore the shouts and rapidly approaching footsteps. His power surged and his crest flared. It was now or never.

Lorenz cast _Warp_ with everything in him and could have laughed with relief when he felt himself begin to dematerialise. Just in a nick of time too. He was gone in a flash of violet light a split second before they jumped on him.

***

Lorenz hadn’t had any clear notion of where he was going. Simply “away” sounded good enough. Anything was better than staying tied up with a gang of barbarians who might slit his throat just for the fun of it. Almyrans killed the majority of their prisoners for no other reason than to enjoy their suffering. They were a cruel and bloodthirsty people, everyone in Leicester knew so. It was just common knowledge.

He was still in the sack when he reappeared and spent a good half hour just getting out of the wretched thing. His fire magic would have helped but Lorenz was too nervous of it getting out of control and accidentally burning him alive. He could have landed in the middle of a hayloft or somewhere equally flammable. It was too risky. 

Eventually he managed to wriggle out of his bonds, drag the sack over his head and draw in a grateful lungful of air. It had been hard to breathe in there!

Lorenz looked around, squinting as his eyes got used to the light, and saw sand. Just sand, miles and miles of it in every direction. Sand, sky and nothing else.

His stomach sank unpleasantly. Apparently his captors had managed to fly him all the way to the Great Desert of Almyra. Where he was now, without food or water and with no way of knowing which way to go. There was nothing except more desert as far as the eye could see, countless shifting dunes stretching out to the horizon. No plantlife, no animals, no buildings, no people. Lorenz was completely alone.

He groaned and buried his head in his hands. These last few days had not turned out quite how he’d imagined when he’d left the monastery. He should have just stayed in the damn sack.

It was early morning when Lorenz had escaped, the sun still rising and only just beginning to turn the sand from cool gray to rich gold. He set out as soon as he was free, intending to cover as much distance as he could before the heat of the day became too intense. He tore up the sack while he walked and fashioned it into a crude hooded cloak. He’d woken up without his armor but thankfully his captors had left the rest of his cavalier’s uniform intact. Add the sack and he was almost completely covered from head to toe. Lorenz’s pale skin burned easily, but a little sunburn was the least of his worries. Heatstroke and heat exhaustion were the far more dangerous foes to the unwary traveller who dared challenge the desert unprepared.

Lorenz knew he was on borrowed time, already so very thirsty having not had anything to drink since the battle with Acheron ended. Sweat would be pouring from him soon and he estimated he had roughly a day and night of walking left in him before he collapsed from dehydration. After that, there would be no hope.

It was a grim thought, but dwelling on it would not help him. Lorenz wasn’t done for yet, he just had to keep his head, stay calm and keep walking until he found a source of water. Preferably attached to someone willing to help him. Even barbarians understood the value of gold and Lorenz was fluent in Almyran. If he could convince them he was worth more to them alive than dead, he was sure he could barter a way home and get back to Fódlan in one piece.

It was a good plan. He just needed to find his savior first.

Easier said than done. Sand was a difficult terrain to traverse, its complete lack of spring back making every step double the effort it would be on normal ground. Lorenz had made far less progress than he liked by the time the sun was high in the sky. 

He’d read many books on Almyra to better get to know the territory of the enemy he must one day face. He was well schooled on the extreme temperatures of the desert; blistering hot during the day, bitterly cold at night.

Lorenz decided then and there that reading about the trials of the desert climate was absolutely nothing to experiencing it firsthand. He’d visited the South of Adrestia in Summer before now and even sailed as far as Brigid once when he was a lad. He’d thought he’d experienced truly oppressive heat there amongst the beaches and mangroves of the archipelago. Now he knew that comparing the heat of Brigid to that of the Great Almyran Desert was like comparing sitting beside the hearth to being in the center of a raging forest fire. Lorenz felt like he was being slowly cooked alive, like a lobster boiling in a pot or a joint of meat roasting in an oven. He gasped and panted raggedly, every inch of him pouring with sweat. He was desperate to take off his burning, soaking clothes and cast them away, but he knew doing so would be tantamount to suicide. As much as he felt like he was quite literally on fire under his coverings, he knew he’d be even hotter without them. Stripping down and exposing one’s body to the full glare of the desert sun was a beginner’s mistake. Almyran travellers wore those long, voluminous robes for a reason.

Lorenz kept his head bowed and pressed on, trying not to think about the heat or the dryness of his throat and just focusing on his footsteps, letting his mind go blank. Left, right, left, right, left right...just like infantry training. It helped a little, but he was becoming so very thirsty that it was hard to think of anything else. Once or twice his heart had leapt when he’d seen what looked like water shimmering in the distance, but it was only a mirage - the sand trembling in the heat and causing a rippling effect. He prayed he wasn’t walking in circles, looking back over his shoulder periodically to check the footprints behind him lay in a reasonably straight line.

After what felt like centuries, the sun finally began to sink beneath the horizon and a blessed, heavenly coolness spread over the land. Lorenz kept going as long as he could, then staggered into the shadow of a dune and sank down in the sand, completely exhausted. 

The night was as frigid as expected but it was the thirst that kept him awake more than the cold. Lorenz had gone hungry during the many times he’d been locked in his room with no food as punishment for his many failings, but he’d always had water. He’d taken for granted that a drink was always available to him and always would be. Now he felt he could sell his soul for a sip of water. He’d have drunk from the scullery maid’s mop bucket like a dog if he could.

When Lorenz had been very young, one of his nannies had scolded him for deliberately spilling a glass of juice during breakfast. It was full of bits of pulp, something Lorenz loathed. His nanny refused to allow him something else no matter how he begged, so Lorenz had “accidentally” knocked the glass off the table. His nanny wasn’t fooled for an instant and Lorenz had been switched across his hands and his backside. Afterwards, the nanny had scolded him over his tears.

_”There may come a time, young master, when you’d very much like to have that juice and will think back on how you wasted it.”_

At the time he’d scoffed at her words, though not out loud. The beating had left him in enough pain as it was.

It had seemed a ridiculous notion. He was Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, the Alliance’s future Sovereign Duke. He hadn’t wanted for anything material since the day he was born. How could he ever come to be desperate for a glass of disgusting, pulpy juice? His family owned thousands of acres of fruit trees, for goodness sake! He could easily acquire enough of the stuff to float a battleship should the mood take him.

Lorenz thought back to the spilled juice, picturing it dripping off the table, wet and red.

He licked his cracked lips but his tongue was so dry it barely made any difference. His old nanny’s words ran through his mind on an endless loop. Sleep eluded him for most of the night.

Lorenz woke exhausted and thirstier than ever when the sun’s light crept round the dune and hit his face. He longed to just roll over and go back to sleep but knew he couldn’t. Not if he wanted to live.

Still, standing up and making himself start walking again was the hardest thing Lorenz had ever done. He’d been without water for over twenty four hours now and was feeling every second of the deficit. His mouth and throat were so dry he could barely swallow, tongue horribly sore and swollen. Not that he had saliva left to swallow any more. His once well moisturised lips had cracked and split so badly that they bled constantly, dark blood leaking sluggishly down his chin. His limbs felt like lead and his head pounded with every step. He didn’t sweat anymore, body unable to spare the moisture. He was starting to reel and stumble which just made him more exhausted as he struggled to keep his balance. If he fell now, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get back up again.

Lorenz could no longer ignore the trouble he was in. It was barely morning and he was already flagging, unable to breathe deeply enough through his nose and forced to open his mouth and pant so his throat only got dryer. He couldn’t go on much longer, not without water. Hope was slipping away, appropriately enough, like grains of sand through an hourglass. He’d walked for hours and there was still nothing in sight but miles of endless, wretched sand.

Lorenz’s head grew light and his mind began to wander. Back to the Deer, Garreg Mach, Belladonna, Gloucester, his family…

Was his life starting to flash before his eyes? He’d heard that happened near the end. 

Lorenz staggered and hissed with pain as he turned his ankle in the burrow of some desert animal. He hoped Professor Byleth wouldn’t be blamed for his disappearance. The former mercenary was a favorite of the Archbishop, so hopefully she would protect him if the need arose. Lorenz prayed it wouldn’t. It wasn’t Byleth’s fault that he’d been foolish enough to disobey. He should have stayed, he never should have charged off alone. He saw how right about everything Byleth was now it was too late. 

Hindsight, to borrow one of Sylvain’s vulgar phrases, was a real bitch.

His thoughts reeled dizzily back to friends, his family, his Deer. They would mourn but eventually accept his death and move on. Lorenz wasn’t worried: he knew how strong they all were, and he had other concerns such as the Alliance. What would they do now he’d just made them heirless for a second time? They’d only just lost Geoffrey and now…

Would there be a fight among the other great families? Gloucester and Riegan would be out of the running, but what of the other three? Would they raise their banners for a fight to make their chosen heirs the heir of all Leicester? Would Lorenz die responsible for bringing civil war to his homeland?

He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, guilt and misery washing over him and making him sick to sick to his stomach. He would not weep. If he was to die, which seemed more likely every minute, he would die with the dignity befitting his station. A noble did not curse and bawl to the heavens like some ill-bred commoner, even when staring death in the face. Even when all hope was gone.

In any case, he was probably too dehydrated to cry by now.

Lorenz trudged on and on as the sun climbed higher in the sky, dizzy and aching in every limb. The heat beat down on him and he tried to pull his makeshift hat down lower with shaking hands, only to miss his footing on the edge of a dune, trip and fall headlong. He lay there for a moment, spitting out mouthfuls of sand and grit and belatedly realized his hat had come off during his tumble. Now he couldn’t make it out against the similarly colored desert, vision too swimmy. _Goddess damn it all._

Lorenz tried to get up, but his knees buckled. The second attempt went the same way, as did the third and fourth, until by the fifth he was spent and collapsed, gasping. Ready to just give in, close his eyes and surrender to his fate, when he spotted a dark shape coming over the dunes a hundred or so yards in front of him.

Lorenz lifted his head with effort, hope springing anew. Was he seeing riders? Had someone found him-?

One of the shapes stilled and raised its head. Lorenz froze as a long, mournful sound drifted over on the desert wind: the howl of a wolf.

His heart started to thud in his chest and he felt sicker than ever. What he’d thought might be his salvation was actually a pack of desert wolves on the hunt. He could just make them out now, seven of the beasts, large and lean with hunger.

Lorenz clenched his fists tight against the sand and forced himself up into a kneeling position. If he’d seen them, they would definitely have smelled him. Dying from exposure was one thing, but being ripped to pieces by starving predators was quite another. He had hardly anything left, but he’d use it to fight till the end.

The pack was coming closer and the largest wolf, undoubtedly the leader, was almost on him. Lorenz drew a deep breath, dug deep and called his magic. He could only manage _Fire_ , his most basic offensive spell, but it would have to be enough.

The alpha wolf paused its approach and began to growl, ears going back and lip curling at the sight of the flame. The one behind it padded uncertainly in the sand, tail lowered. All creatures great and small feared fire (except dragons for obvious reasons) and it was Lorenz’s first stroke of good luck that it was his primary element. The wolves wouldn’t have feared ice or poison based spells on sight.

He pushed himself and forced the flames to flare higher. One of the wolves whined and backed away. The leader’s hackles went up.

_Leave me be,_ Lorenz prayed. _Go on, run away and find some other poor creature to kill. Can’t you see I’m more trouble than I’m worth?_

Unfortunately the wolves didn’t seem inclined to agree with his inner thoughts. Though they kept their distance, they didn’t retreat either. It was a standoff.

Until Lorenz’s _Fire_ guttered and he pitched forward with a gasp, throwing out his free hand to avoid another faceplant in the sand. The spell went out and he fell on all fours, dizzy and trembling, arms threatening to collapse. It was no use, he was too weak for magic. Sweat ran down into his eyes, blinding him as he struggled to raise his head. The wolves were moving in for the kill, the biggest only a few feet away. It was hopeless. He couldn’t stand up, let alone fight.

Lorenz slumped down into the sand as his limbs gave out. Black spots danced in front of his eyes and he winced as his head throbbed mercilessly. The spell had drained him of his last bit of strength, but what else could he have done? It wasn’t like he could have fought them with his bare hands.

The wolf was so close now that he could feel its burning, stinking breath of his face. He prayed it would bite the back of his neck and snap it, killing him swiftly. Did wolves “play” with their food the way cats do? He truly hoped not.

This was it, he was dead. Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, descendant of the Ten Elites, wielder of Thyrsus and future Sovereign Duke of the Alliance, eaten by desert dogs. What an unexpected, miserable end-

Something thudded into the sand inches from his face making both Lorenz and the wolf start and yelp in unison. Lorenz turned his face towards the mysterious object and blinked as it swam into focus. An arrow?

The wolves were hesitating, spooked. The leader recovered first and tried to approach Lorenz again, only to dance back with a fearful sound as another arrow struck between them.

Then Lorenz heard it from above: shouts, the clash of armor and the twang of bows, all mixed with the beat of wyvern wings. He gasped as a wyvern’s bulk thudded down in front of him and its rider hurled a tomahawk at the lead wolf. Lorenz heard a sickening thud as steel met flesh, followed by a pitiful whine which was abruptly cut off by another arrow. Their alpha dead, the remaining wolves scattered.

“Well, well! What do we have here?” Boomed an unfamiliar voice.

The rider dismounted, boots filling Lorenz’s vision. He looked up, eyes screwed up against the sun’s glare. The man standing over him was an Almyran; tall, bearded, broad and heavily scarred. He wore a wyvern master’s armor, the sash and golden jewelry suggesting a high rank. Definitely a warrior, as if the arrows and axe hadn’t been enough of a clue.

The warrior suddenly spoke again, voice deep and rough from years of flying.

“A Fódlaner, all alone in the desert?” He bent down towards Lorenz for a closer look. “How’d that come to be, eh?”

Lorenz belatedly realized the stranger was speaking to him in Fódlani. Good, his head hurt so much he wasn’t sure he could make any sense of Almyran.

Then all other thoughts were unceremoniously thrown out of his head when he suddenly noticed the waterskin tied around the warrior’s waist. Lorenz’s heart pounded and he shook with desperation. He stretched out a hand towards the skin with a pleading wheeze, eyes beseeching.

“ _Water_ ,” Lorenz gasped, cracked lips splitting and dripping blood. “ _Please...water…please._ ”

The man considered him for a moment, then shrugged and untied the skin.

“Here,” he said as he tossed it into Lorenz’s waiting hands. “Don’t drink too fast unless you want to puke and waste it.”

Lorenz wasn’t listening, too busy scrabbling to open the skin like his life depended on it. Which it did. He couldn’t hold himself up any longer and so flopped onto his back to make drinking easier. He almost wept with relief when he tasted his first mouthful.

As future Sovereign Duke and son of one of the richest families in Fódlan, Lorenz had never been given anything but the best when it came to food and drink. He’d been raised on the finest of the fine, everything the best quality and prepared by the most skilled hands money could buy. Yet nothing, no fine delicacy or dish fit for a king, had ever tasted so good as the tepid water he gulped down from that skin. It was ambrosia, heavenly mana from the Goddess herself. He wanted to lay there and drink it forever, never getting enough.

The warrior let him drain the skin and then took it back. Lorenz just lay in the sand, totally dazed as if he’d gulped down a skin full of whiskey rather than water.

He was vaguely aware that the other riders had landed and joined their leader. At least thirty of them, warriors all from what he could tell, now stood around Lorenz in a ring, observing him with interest. He would love to just be able to pass out now his thirst was slaked, but that was a very bad idea. Who knew what they’d do if he was helpless. _More_ helpless.

“Nader,” a tall woman with cropped hair and a nose ring said to the man who’d saved him. “What are you going to do with him? Will you-“

Lorenz missed the rest. Both because she was speaking Almyran and in his state he just couldn’t keep up, and because the warrior’s name had hit him with a horrible jolt.

Nader...this couldn’t be _the_ Nader, could it? Otherwise Lorenz was potentially in worse trouble than he’d been with the wolves. Every Alliance citizen had heard of Nader the Undefeated, the terrifying general who was seemingly unkillable and regularly washed his axe in buckets of Leicester blood. Lorenz had heard tales of him from Holst, especially when he was in his cups and angry enough to rant. He was a monster, a soulless demon who lived to kill.

When he took over as Sovereign Duke, Lorenz knew he would someday have to deal with Nader and his band of brigands for the good of Leicester. He just hadn’t expected to face him so soon. If this even was _the_ Nader. This man had given him water, after all. He’d imagine General Nader would have killed him as soon as he landed. Or enjoyed watching the wolves eat him alive.

Perhaps this was another Nader and they just shared a name? He could only hope-

Lorenz yelped as he was suddenly grabbed up by the front of his shirt and dangled by one of the other warriors, a man with a beard full of braids and muscles like cannonballs. Lorenz struggled weakly and tried to pry the brute’s hands off, but it was no use.

“Let go!” He gasped as most of them laughed at his futile efforts, Nader included. “Put me down this instant!”

“What’s he jabbering about?” The warrior asked Nader in Almyran as Lorenz squirmed. “I still can’t make out a damn word of that devil tongue.”

“He said to drop him.”

The man grinned and Lorenz’s blood ran cold despite the heat when he saw him draw a curved dagger with his free hand.

“I’d rather slit his gullet. He’s probably a spy.”

“Wait, don’t be hasty-“ Nader started, only to be drowned out by the warrior’s cry of pain as Lorenz’s _Fire_ hit him full in the face.

He stumbled back cursing and rubbing his eyes, dropping Lorenz in the process.

The spell had been pitifully weak, mostly sparks and smoke, but the ring of warriors drew back even so.

Lorenz rolled over and tried to prop himself up on his elbows, heart thudding at the coldly furious looks he was getting from all sides. He knew as soon as he’d loosed the spell that he’d just made a horrible error. Panicking at the sight of the dagger, he’d potentially just doomed himself.

Magic was taboo in Almyra. They had no mages or sorcerers of their own and loathed and mistrusted the mystic arts and those who practiced them, and Lorenz had just outed himself as a mage. If they didn’t have an excuse to want him dead before, he’d just given them one.

Lorenz nervously licked his lips and tried to keep calm and speak as apologetically as he could. Maybe he could still save himself.

“F-forgive me, I-“

Stars exploded before Lorenz’s eyes as something heavy cracked brutally across the back of his head. One of them had hit him from behind, most likely with a club or cudgel.

The stars were the last thing Lorenz saw before he fell into darkness.

***

He half woke several hours later when a sharp pain in his throat dragged him back to semi-consciousness.

He gasped as someone held his arm down when he tried to raise a trembling hand to his neck. Everything was so dark even though he was sure his eyes were open. He was too sick and dizzy from the blow to the head to understand why. 

There were voices, somewhere above him. Lorenz couldn’t make out what they were saying. He struggled weakly, utterly disoriented, and tried to touch his neck again. There was a horrible pressure and burning pain there, like someone had wrapped a chain of molten metal around his throat. He gasped again, feeling like he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs.

His hand was caught and forced down once more. Lorenz moaned and wriggled which just made the pain worse. What was happening? Why couldn’t he see anything?

“P-please-” he gasped, voice a hoarse rasp. “ _Please_ , it hurts…”

“It’s supposed to, magi. Keep still or you’ll just make it worse for yourself.”

Lorenz thought he recognized the voice (later he’d realize it was Nader) but his battered mind couldn’t be sure. He was sure what the speaker had just called him and it made him feel sicker than ever.

_Magi,_ the generic Almyran word for magic user. It possessed derogatory connotations that its brother word “mage” did not. An Almyran said “magi” the same way a Fódlaner might say “demon”. What a fool he’d been to show his magic in front of them. They’d never help him now, on the contrary, it was amazing he was still alive at all.

Strength exhausted, Lorenz stopped struggling and lay still, panting raggedly. The thing around his throat still burned like acid.

He gave a weak start when a cup was pressed to his lips. 

“Drink, magi. It will help.”

Lorenz was still terribly thirsty and so obediently parted his lips. Whatever it was, it tasted bitter and he had a hard time swallowing it down. Some sort of medicine?

The cup was removed after Lorenz had sipped enough to satisfy whoever was holding it. He sighed with relief and sent silent thanks to the Goddess when a cool numbness spread over the back of his neck and head. 

The mystery drug made him even sleepier and Lorenz was just beginning to drop off again when he heard the rustle of fabric: a tent flap opening, though he didn’t know it at the time. Whoever had entered started speaking Almyran with the man who’d just fed him the potion.

“Is it on?”

“Yeah, on and-“ a few words Lorenz didn’t catch. “-so no need to worry. Tell Nasreen we fly at dawn.”

“Aye, sir. You staying with-“ something, something said in a very unflattering tone. “-tonight?”

“Yes. Someone needs to keep an eye on him. Might as well be me.”

“Alone? Sir, is that wise? Let me post guards-“

Lorenz wanted to stay awake and listen, but a large hand was suddenly pressed to the cloth wrapped around his face (a blindfold, he realized belatedly) and his eyes shut automatically. Then he was drifting away again, the soft buzz of conversation lulling him back to sleep.

***

His head was clearer when he next woke. Which was a good thing as Lorenz immediately noticed he was no longer lying in a tent. Or on the ground at all, rather he was hundreds of feet up in the air on wyvernback.

Lorenz cried out in fear and dismay, instinctively lurching back. For a terrifying moment he was sure he was about to tumble off and plunge to his death. Then a huge arm wrapped around his waist and crushed him against a similarly muscled chest. Lorenz squeaked as all the breath was squashed out of him.

“Easy, magi! Keep still unless you want to fall!”

Lorenz craned his neck to see who was holding him. Not unexpectedly, it was Nader. Lorenz forced himself to remain calm and get his painfully banging heart and rapid breathing under control. A Gloucester was made of sterner stuff. Becoming hysterical wouldn't help him now.

“Where are we going?” Lorenz shouted over the roar of the wind. “Where are you taking me?”

“To Qer Qahmoune.”

_Qer Qahmoune_ , they were going to the Almyran capital city.

Lorenz fell silent, mulling it over. This wasn’t the most terrible turn of events, not so long as he kept his wits about him. No one knew who he was yet and he intended to keep it that way. He couldn’t pull off being a commoner, but perhaps if he cooked up some story about being a merchant’s son and offered a sizeable reward to any willing to bring him home-

Nader interrupted his thoughts by speaking again.

“What’s your name?”

Lorenz didn’t answer. His first name was a common one in Leicester thanks to Sovereign Duke Lorenz von Ordelia being one of their most beloved historical leaders. There were plenty of Lorenz’s around, both common and highborn, but telling Nader the truth was still too risky.

Thankfully he didn’t seem to take offence at Lorenz’s silence and just tutted, urging their wyvern on faster.

“Fine by me. Keep your secrets if you must,” he said. “But I warn you, you’ll only make it harder on yourself if you don’t learn to behave.”

Behave? What exactly was that supposed to mean?

Lorenz opened his mouth to request clarification, only to hiss as something burned against his throat. He suddenly recalled the pain from before and reached up to feel his neck. Something heavy and segmented had been fixed around his throat. Like a choker but much larger and weightier. It felt like it was made of metal and sat so snug against his skin that he was unable to work a finger in between it and his neck.

Lorenz couldn’t help but flinch when he felt it. Even in the light of the desert sun it was strangely cold. Touching it felt somehow unpleasant and Lorenz’s teeth were unwillingly set on edge. He shivered.

“Finally noticed, have you?”

“What is this?” Lorenz demanded. 

“Wait till we set down and I’ll tell you. Don’t touch it for now.”

“Why?”

“When we land.”

Lorenz couldn’t convince him to say more. He didn’t touch the thing again. He hated it, whatever it was. 

They flew for what felt like hours, on and on over endless desert, until at last Lorenz began to see signs of life below. Small clusters of tumbledown huts gave way to sturdier stone houses and soon they were flying over paved roads, marketplaces and buildings with multiple stories. They were swarming with life as the Almyran commoners went about their daily hustle and bustle. A few looked up at the flock of wyvern passing overhead, but most paid them no heed, suggesting it was a regular occurrence.

Lorenz knew Qer Qahmoune was big, at least the size of Enbarr, but seeing it for himself was a far different experience than studying maps in the Manse libraries. The capital seemed to sprawl on forever until it joined with the horizon. Lorenz couldn’t see the end of it no matter how he strained his eyes. Millions of people must live here. Millions of Almyrans. It was not a happy thought.

They flew on with the gradually increasing grandeur of the buildings and people the only evidence they were making progress at all. Lorenz was just beginning to doze off against Nader’s chest, sleepy from the warmth and his ordeals, when he was roused by the warrior’s voice.

“Wake up, kid. We’re nearly there.”

Lorenz raised his head and stiffened, feeling his jaw drop.

In front of their rapidly approaching flock was the Almyran Royal Palace. Even if he hadn’t seen sketches and read descriptions, it was still unmistakable: an enormous structure carved in gleaming white marble, with multiple domes that seemed to be made of solid gold, surrounded by rolling, lush tropical gardens fed by an immense artificial lake.

The palace was so vast it almost seemed like a town all by itself. Here was where the Sultan and Sultana, Almyra’s version of King and Queen, lived and ruled over their domain.

Lorenz gulped, wishing he was home more than ever.

There were three separate walls encircling the palace, each made of the same white stone as the main buildings. The outermost was bristling with archers, but no one tried to stop them as they flew over. Only their wyvern passed the second wall, all the others falling away and setting down next to the first.

They flew over the third and final wall, past most of the gardens, then Nader turned down towards a large, paved plain which Lorenz guessed was a dedicated landing site. He braced himself as the wyvern stretched out its back legs and spread its talons as the ground neared. Thankfully they landed without incident.

Nader jumped off and held out a large calloused hand to Lorenz.

“C’mon, magi. While we’re young.”

Lorenz had a brief fantasy of seizing the wyvern’s reins and making a grand escape, but shoved it aside and let Nader help him scramble down instead. Even if the wyvern obeyed him, he’d never get past the rest of Nader’s horde. Not to mention the archers.

“Thank you,” he murmured automatically, looking around at their surroundings in wonder.

They were surrounded by the gardens and Lorenz was aware of a stunning range of tropical trees, shrubs and flowers. The air was heavy with the scent of these rare blooms and he could hear the sound of water trickling from somewhere. Lorenz started as a flock of bizarre pink birds with long thin legs and hooked beaks suddenly flew over the trees, making for the lake he’d seen in the distance. A bizarre brown furred beast about the size of a cat hung upside down from a nearby tree, moving so slowly Lorenz wondered if it was sick. A nearby bird was cracking nuts with a multicolored beak twice the size of its body.

How many Fódlaners had ever seen inside the Almyran Royal Palace and lived to tell about it? If he ever got out of this mess, he’d certainly have some stories to share!

He tore his eyes away from a bunch of spiky pink fruit hanging on a nearby tree (his stomach growled pleadingly) and looked at Nader.

“Why did you bring me here?”

“To meet the prince.”

Lorenz stared at him. He hadn’t expected _that._ Meet the prince? Why? For what purpose?

His heart squeezed with fear. Had they somehow worked out his true identity?

Nader grinned, amused at his distress.

“Don’t worry, you’ll understand when we get there. Oh, and by the way-“ he reached out and casually tugged at Lorenz’s collar.

The effect was instantaneous. Lorenz screamed with shock and pain as what felt like a fully charged _Bolting_ ripped through him. He collapsed to the ground in a writhing and gasping heap, desperately trying to rip the collar off. It wouldn’t budge and his attempts only seemed to make the pain worse. Lorenz choked and went limp, his vision starting to turn dark from the agony. He’d been hit by _Silence_ on the battlefield in the past and what he felt now was similar. Except the pain from that spell was gone in a split second. This just went on and on until Lorenz was sure he would either die or pass out. Then shock stopped and the pain faded just as suddenly as it had begun. Against his throat, the collar was white hot.

Lorenz lay where he fell, in tears and struggling to breathe. He’d been in battle multiple times, facing down hardened warriors and deadly beasts alike. He’d been wounded, cursed, stabbed and trampled, but he’d never suffered like that.

Nader was standing over him.

“Told you I’d show you what it did,” He said conversationally. “And that will happen again, every time you try to take it off or use magic. Got it, kid? Try calling your power again, even the tiniest spark, and that’s what you’ll get. It turns it back on you, so be smart and keep your magic to yourself. Understand, brat?”

Lorenz hurt too much to answer and just groaned when Nader kicked him lightly to check he was listening.

He started with panic when Nader reached for the collar again.

“ _Understand?_ ”

“Y-yes…”

“Good.”

Nader straightened up and gave Lorenz a few minutes to recover, then dragged him to his feet. At least Lorenz was allowed to lean against him as he marched them towards the palace entrance. Lorenz’s legs were still half numb and he walked as if he were drunk, but Nader jerked him up whenever he stumbled.

Nader pulled him up a long flight of stairs made of white stone and then in through a huge pair of carved double doors. There were guards everywhere but, just like the archers on the walls, none of them tried to stop Nader or question him about Lorenz. They did stare openly at him. Lorenz was probably an unusual sight with his pale skin and bright violet coloring. Every Almyran he’d seen so far had the normal coppery complexion and hair and eyes that were either brown or black. He must stick out like a sore thumb.

They passed multiple servants in white going about their daily chores. All of them bowed respectfully to Nader. He must be a very important man, Lorenz thought dizzily as he stumbled over intricately embroidered carpets. Maybe he really was _the_ Nader.

Lorenz could well believe it after what he’d just been put through. He had to get the collar off somehow. Without his magic, he was defenceless.

They walked for what felt like miles, through corridors, up stairs, passed hundreds of rooms, until at last they reached a lavishly decorated floor with ceilings high as a two storey building. Priceless Srengi tapestries hung on the walls and the carpets were sewn with pearls. The corridor was very long but there were only a few doors set in the wall. The rooms beyond had to be enormous, each the size of a barn.

Lorenz realized with a jolt that these were probably the royal apartments. He was about to meet the prince of Almyra. The double doors Nader dragged him to certainly looked rich enough to be concealing one. Was he seeing things or were those handles made of solid gold?

Nader stepped between two guards standing watch and hammered on the doors with his fist.

“Hey kid, it’s me! You decent?” He called in Almyran.

There was a brief pause and then a relaxed sounding voice replied from inside:

“Yeah. Come in.” 

Nader turned the handle and opened one of the doors. Lorenz barely had time to think before he was dragged inside and tossed unceremoniously to the floor. He didn’t throw his hands out fast enough and painfully cracked his chin against the marble tiles. He’d have a large bruise there tomorrow, just another to add on the pile. By now he must look like an overripe banana.

“Gotcha a present,” Lorenz heard Nader over the ringing in his ears. “Found him wandering the desert. Won’t tell me his name or anything else about why he was out there to begin with.”

“Did you ask nicely?” Came the second voice again.

Nader laughed.

“Of course! Aren’t I always nice?”

After making sure none of his teeth had come loose, Lorenz raised his head and got his first look at the Almyran prince, who was sitting on a huge, luxurious bed that looked like it could comfortably fit six people.

He was shorter than Lorenz, about his age or maybe slightly younger. His hair was the typical dark curls of Almyra, but his skin was a shade or two lighter than Lorenz was used to, more tea than coffee. He wore loose clothes and a band tied jauntily around his head, all in shades of gold and green and stunningly embroidered with twisting, swirling brocade, jewels and bells. His ears were pierced and he wore gold bangles on his wrists and a large, ruby ring on one finger. When Lorenz focused on his face, he saw it to be lean and angular with a cat’s smile. His eyes were a startling bright, jade green and seemed to glitter with mischief and an air of good humor.

Green eyes, light skin...very unusual for an Almyran, and a royal one at that.

Lorenz had known of course that Almyra had a prince, but this man was not what he’d expected. He’d pictured something like a younger version of Nader: a bearded, muscle bound brute.

The prince tilted his head at him and quirked a brow when he caught Lorenz staring. He grinned and got up, jewelry jingling.

“Considering how battered about he is, I’d say that’s a hard “nope”.”

Nader shrugged and grabbed the back of Lorenz’s uniform, lifting him up so the prince could get a better look. Lorenz gagged as the collar was pressed tight against his throat.

“Not my fault. He had most of this before we found him. The rest was to keep him quiet before we got him collared. Tried to burn Salman’s face off, little bastard.”

“What did Salman do?” The prince asked.

“Why do you think he’s the one who did anything?”

“Because he’s Salman.”

“Ha! Fair enough.”

Lorenz was on the point of speaking up about the dagger until he decided it was a bad idea. Better to keep his fluency in Almyran to himself. With his magic gone for now, it was the one advantage he still had.

So instead of arguing, he just hung there and listened. This prince seemed a more reasonable sort than Nader and his thugs. If they could just talk alone-

“He’s safe now,” Nader said, interrupting his thoughts. “They’re always docile as kittens once they feel the collar a few times.”

“Right…”

Was it his imagination, or did the prince look a tiny bit displeased at that? Lorenz hoped so.

The prince approached and stood before Lorenz, appraising him. Lorenz held his breath.

“Put him down?”

Nader grunted and dropped Lorenz the short distance to the floor. He stumbled but thankfully didn’t fall, legs still feeling rubbery.

Just for a second, Lorenz thought the prince was about to reach out a hand and steady him, but he didn’t. His headache was back with a vengeance. Maybe he was starting to see things?

“I’m Prince Khalid of Almyra,” the prince said in perfect Fódlani, making Lorenz blink in surprise. “And you are…?”

Lorenz opened his mouth and closed it again, conflicted. Should he tell him? Was even giving up his first name too risky? This Khalid didn’t seem aggressive but one could never tell with Almyrans. Then again, not answering a direct question from a prince could land him in hot water anyway.

Lorenz screwed up his eyes some as his head throbbed unbearably. It was so hard to think when he hurt this much. What he wouldn’t give to just be allowed to crawl into Khalid’s bed, drag the blankets over himself and sleep for the next few years.

Nader cuffed him sharply, making Lorenz yelp.

“Answer him, boy!” He barked in Fódlani. “Does your kind not even know how to behave before royalty?”

“It’s fine,” Khalid put up a hand to stop Nader hitting him again. “I can’t really blame him for not being in the mood to talk. Not after what he’s been through.”

Nader rolled his eyes as Lorenz covered his stinging ear. He felt about two more blows away from just falling to pieces like a poorly made doll.

“He needs to learn, kid,” Nader said. “Even you can’t get away with having a disobedient slave-“

Lorenz’s jaw dropped.

“ _What?_ ” He screeched, pain and fatigue momentarily forgotten. “I beg your _pardon?!_ ”

Him? Him, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, a slave? To a barbarian?! It was ludicrous! Unheard of! This had to be a bad joke!

Nader glared and grabbed Lorenz’s shoulder as if he might charge at Khalid and try to attack him with his bare hands.

“Shut it, magi! Don’t raise your voice to-“

“I will raise my voice exactly as much as I please, you meat-headed lout!” Lorenz yelled, trying to twist and squirm out of the iron grip. “Let go! Do you hear me?! Let go of me at once, you savage!”

“ _Savage?!_ Why you little-“

“Stop!” Khalid ordered, making Nader fall still though Lorenz still fought him.

The prince sighed and those jade eyes rolled.

“Look, nothing’s been decided yet. You may not end up as my slave-“

“I should think not!”

“Will you shut your hole, you-“

“Nader!” Khalid said sharply. “Just let him go for now. This isn’t helping.”

“But-“

“Nader,” Khalid frowned. “ _Now._ ”

Lorenz expected Nader to refuse and was surprised when he instead obeyed and released him with a muttered insult. Lorenz rubbed at his aching shoulder and drew himself up to his full height so he could stare haughtily down at Khalid.

The prince returned his look evenly and without expression, face impassive as a sphinx.

They gazed at each other for a long moment until Nader cleared his throat.

“Eh, maybe this was a bad idea after all. He seems a real pain in the ass-“ Lorenz’s drew in a sharp breath, nostrils flaring with anger. “-so I’ll just take him back, yeah?”

“What would you do with him?” Khalid asked.

“Sell him to someone else of course!” Nader said. “Even if he’s no good for you, a magi is still valuable. Bet I’d get a lot for him at the fighting pits. Watching the lions tear apart a Fódlani bastard would be a huge draw!”

Lorenz’s heart painfully skipped a beat. Suddenly the weakness came rushing back and he had to lean forward and brace himself on his knees lest he collapse. Sweat ran down his back and the world tilted dizzily. Torn apart by lions? This couldn’t be happening! Everything since he’d been captured felt like he’d stumbled into a nightmare.

“Can’t you just set him free?”

Lorenz looked up, hardly daring to believe it. He heard Nader groan.

“By the gods, Khalid, not this again-“ he said in Almyran.

“Well, why can’t you?” Khalid interrupted. “Just let him go and put him on a boat back to Derdriu. No harm done.”

Lorenz personally felt significant harm had already been done, but he held his tongue. Unfortunately Nader didn’t seem inclined to do the same. These two must be close in order for him to speak so disrespectfully. Perhaps they were related? Or Nader was high up enough at court that he didn’t have to worry about watching his words.

Or they were just a pair of barbarians with no concept of decorum. That was a possibility too.

“Because your enemies would see it as another sign of weakness!” Nader said. “Half the palace saw me dragging him in here. Word has probably spread to the four corners of Almyra by now.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Don’t be childish, brat, or I’ll box your ears.”

“I never asked for a slave! I don’t need one.”

“It’s not about need, it’s about keeping up appearances! You really think those-“ a word Lorenz didn’t know but doubted was complimentary. “-haven’t noticed you don’t keep a single slave? You’re the prince, Khalid! You should have half an army’s worth!”

“Half an army’s worth of people torn away from their families just so I can keep them as some stupid status symbol?” Khalid challenged with obvious bitterness.

“You don’t have to like it! Just accept it for your own good! It’s the way things are.”

“The way things are is wrong! If our ancestors never tried to change “the way things are” we’d still be living in caves! We can be better than what came before. Isn’t that the whole point?”

Nader sighed and rubbed his eyes. This was obviously an argument they’d had many times before.

“You can’t free him, Khalid, you know that,” he said at last. “Your position’s unsteady enough as it is. I don’t care if you keep him or kill him, but it has to be one of those! You need to start showing respect for our culture, for your father’s sake if nothing else.”

“Don’t bring baba into this!” Khalid snapped.

‘I’ll bring every member of your-“ something, something. “-family into it if it gets you to listen, you stubborn little-“ did he just call the prince a camel’s backside? Goodness!

They glared at each other for a long moment. Unfortunately for Lorenz, it was Khalid who broke first.

“Fine,” he turned away in surrender. “You’re right. I hate it, but you’re right. I’ll keep him. For now.”

“Good,” Nader said with audible relief. “Finally, some sense!”

“Hmm,” was all Khalid gave by way of reply.

Lorenz was still processing everything when Nader grabbed him again.

“C’mon then, magi. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“Get him some food too,” Khalid called as Lorenz was pulled away. “And medicine. His wounds need to be treated. Call Muneer, okay?”

Nader tutted.

“You sure? A few more days without might knock the fire out of him.”

Khalid finally smiled again. It was noticeably enigmatic.

“Ah, but isn’t that supposed to be part of the fun?”

Then he actually had the gall to wink at Lorenz as though they were intimate friends rather than his new “owner”.

_Almyrans_ , Lorenz thought to himself as Nader called up some guards and passed him over with instructions on what was to be done.

_Beggar or prince, they’re all as bad as each other._

***

Lorenz struggled to keep his footing as he was dragged deeper into the palace, back down flights of stairs then through another maze of corridors. If he wasn’t still suffering from exposure and a concussion, he would have quite liked to take in more of the art and architecture. Instead, all he got was vague dizzy, impressions carved arches and vividly colored tiling, everything blurred. At least down here was much cooler.

They dragged him on and on, Lorenz ignoring the guards’ disparaging snorts and comments as they pulled him up after each stumble. They passed a communal bath, then a large room full of steam and the buzz of many voices, then another where Lorenz heard the sound of splashing and a shriek of laughter. He licked his lips, thirsty again.

Eventually they came to a painted door which led into a round, blue tiled bathroom. It was small but well made, the kind of room one would find in the house of a well-to-do merchant. In the middle was an Almyran style round, sunken bath with a chair set inside it. Towels, piles of sponges and washcloths shared shelf space with bottles of scented oil and stacks of expensive looking soaps. Closets and a chest of drawers had been pushed against one of the walls alongside a vanity and full length mirror with a gorgeous frame of green mosaic ceramic that reminded Lorenz of the sea glass he and Ferdinand used to find on the Aegir beaches.

_Ferdinand…_ Lorenz’s heart ached and a lump rose in his throat. He wished his best friend was here. He wished _anyone_ he knew was here. He’d even take the Abysskeeper at this point and _he_ refused to refer to Lorenz as anything other than “hair job”.

The guards dragged him over to the bath and Lorenz collapsed onto the chair with a grateful groan. The guards gave him a disdainful look. Then the female one left the same way they’d come in.

She returned a moment later with two older women and two young men in tow. While the women wore the familiar white servant garb, the youths were dressed only in simple loincloths and sandals. Lorenz estimated them to be about fourteen or fifteen. On their chests, just below the collar bone, were matching tattoos. Regimented bars and dots of black that were probably a code of some sort. Lorenz guessed it marked them as slaves. Unlike virtually every Almyran man he’d seen, they were clean shaven.

All of the newcomers stopped and stared when they noticed him; the women with obvious distaste, wrinkled faces shriveling like leather, and the youths with fear.

“We’ll be outside if you need us,” the male guard said in Almyran. “He should give you no trouble now he’s bound, but be careful. You never can tell with a magi.”

One of the women grunted and both guards left the room.

“Fill the tub,” the other woman ordered the boys, and they both scurried out to obey. Meanwhile the first woman was pulling cleaning supplies off the shelves.

Lorenz leaned back in the chair and watched them work, too tired to do anything else. He should be trying to escape, but he couldn’t think _how_. Even if he could overpower the women and, somehow, the slaves and guards, he’d still be stuck right in the middle of the Almyran capital city with no way out. He was helpless with no weapons and no magic. Better to wait for an opportunity than to act rashly and possibly get himself killed. Or worse.

He was jerked out of his reverie when the first woman pointed at him with a bony finger. Lorenz noticed the back of her hand was covered with intricate, flowery patterns done in black ink. More tattoos? How dreadful! No one in Fódlan would be seen dead with tattoos except the roughest of sailors, least of all a lady.

“Undress,” she said in thickly accented Fódlani. “No clothes!”

Lorenz hesitated long enough for the woman to purse her lips, then nodded and began to unbutton his shirt. They’d only force him anyway if he refused. Better to hold on to what little dignity he could.

He blushed as the women watched him critically, completely without shame. He’d undressed in front of servants before of course, but never female ones. It simply was not done! Such barbarism was unheard of in civilized nations. Still, peeling off his bloody, sweat soaked, sand encrusted layers was wonderful.

The second woman gathered up Lorenz’s shirt, undershirt, boots and socks and dumped them in a wicker bin. To be taken to be laundered, most likely.

Lorenz had fallen still and the first woman gestured at him impatiently. He swallowed and flushed darker as he fumbled with his belt buckle, removing it and his pants until he was down to only his smalls. He shyly tried to cover himself with his hands. To be this naked in front of women, even if they were only servants of a backward country. So very inappropriate! No one must ever find out about this or Lorenz would die of shame.

The youths had returned in the meantime, each carrying a large barrel of hot water that gave off a scented steam. Why couldn’t _they_ have watched him undress if he really needed a chaperone? Urgh. Stupid Almyrans.

Cross and embarrassed as he was, the thought of a bath still made Lorenz salivate and he leaned forward eagerly in the chair. What were they waiting for?

The first woman frowned and pointed at Lorenz’s crotch with a flapping motion.

“Off,” she ordered in Fódlani. “Off, all. No clothes.”

Lorenz blanched, certain he must have misunderstood. When she repeated the order, his jaw dropped with horror.

Surely not! Surely they could not expect him - ? This was too much! He would not stand for it!

The woman made an impatient sound at his lack of movement and turned to bark an order at the youths, who were still watching Lorenz apprehensively over the rims of their barrels. Apparently they weren’t allowed to set them down without explicit permission.

“Strip him,” she ordered in Almyran.

“No!” Lorenz burst out, forgetting he wasn’t supposed to be able to understand. “Absolutely not! I refuse!”

He surged to his feet as one of the boys timidly made to approach him.

“Please,” he said. “Please sir-“

“Not “sir”,” the second woman corrected. “He’s a slave like you.”

Ah, so they _were_ slaves. Lorenz was still having none of it.

“Stay back!”

Without thinking, he drew back his hand to flash a fiery warning, only for the wretched collar to activate again. Lorenz cried out and went down painfully as everything was suddenly agony and his legs turned to water. He clawed desperately at the collar but it was just as useless as the first time. Eventually the magical lightning faded away and he was left, gagging and twitching on the floor of the bath. He could smell the acrid tang of burned hair and realized dully that the shock had singed him. Miserable, horrible thing. It was truly inhumane.

He could hear the old woman arguing with the slave boys. From what he could make out over the ringing in his ears, they were afraid to touch him.

Lorenz opened his eyes a sliver and lifted his head just enough to see them over the rim of the bath. The first woman was gesticulating angrily towards him. The slaves had moved back, abandoning their barrels, and were pressed against the opposite wall as far away from the bath as possible.

“He can’t hurt you, you brainless lumps!” The old woman shouted crossly. “The-“ word he didn’t know. “-will only hurt him if he tries anything! You won’t feel it!”

“Forgive us, mistress,” one of the slaves pleaded, putting his hands together in a gesture of supplication. “But we don’t want to be cursed from touching a magi. They’re _soth’mulunt._ ”

“Oh, for the love of-!”

_Soth’mulunt_. An Almyran word that meant unclean, defiled and tainted, if Lorenz recalled correctly. He felt too awful to be insulted. Didn’t the term have something to do with their pantheon? Maybe, he wasn’t sure. He couldn’t remember and his head hurt too much to try. Instead he allowed his face to fall back against the pleasantly cool tiles of the bath, letting the argument wash over him. He felt like he’d been trampled by a demonic beast. Everything hurt. This was a nightmare.

He must have either passed out or dozed off for a few minutes because suddenly there were hands around his waist, roughly grabbing and pulling him back up into the chair. Lorenz opened his eyes and saw it was one of the guards. He also noticed the slaves were gone. Apparently the old woman had failed to cow them. Was he really that frightening?

Lorenz tensed and gritted his teeth with mortification as the guard grabbed his smalls and ripped them off, leaving him completely nude in front of three women. He pressed trembling hands over his naked privates and tried to pretend this was all a bad dream.

“Oh hey, look!” The female guard laughed, pointing at Lorenz’s crotch. “He really does have purple pussy hair! That’s so fucking weird!”

“I told you,” her comrade said as he dragged over one of the barrels. “Fódlaners come in all colors. They get stained in the womb; the stronger the magic, the weirder they look. I saw one once with hair that was half red and half blue.”

“Damn, that’s crazy.”

“Totally. Come help me, would you? These things weigh a ton.”

“Fine, fine.”

Soon both barrels were set at the side of the bath and Lorenz hissed as one was dumped over him, water sloshing up to his calves.

“Anything else?” Lorenz heard the male guard ask.

“No,” the quieter of the old women said. “Thank you, you can go.”

“Right. Call us if you need anything.”

“We will.”

Lorenz watched the guards leave and then winced as the women began to wash him.

“Madams please, I can do it myself.” He tried in Fódlani.

They ignored him and talked amongst themselves instead.

“If you ask me,” the first woman said as she aggressively scrubbed Lorenz’s back with a sponge that felt like a wire scouring brush. “Nader has taken leave of his senses. Giving the prince a magi for a-“ here she said another word he wasn’t familiar with. “What is that big galoot thinking? They should have left him for the vultures!”

“I’m sure Nader knows what he’s doing,” her companion said mildly, pouring jugfulls of water to wash off the suds where the first woman had already cleaned. “He’s always taken good care of his highness-“

“Bah! Nader couldn’t take care of a bean!” Her companion interrupted. “This will all end in tears, mark my words!”

“Consider them marked,” she chuckled, coaxing Lorenz to raise his arm so she could wash underneath. “But it’s good young Khalid is finally taking a slave. It’s not right he’s been so long without one.”

“I suppose you’re right about that,” the first woman grumbled. “But why a Fódlaner? Why a _magi?_ Why not just go down to the Drop and buy him a proper slave?”

“My Adham says-“

“Oh, I don’t care what your Adham says! He’s got even less brains in him than Nader!”

He listened to their bickering, hoping they’d talk more about the prince or about something he could potentially use to escape, but they didn’t. Discussing Nader, the unfortunate Adham, and the price of slaves instead.

This went on for a long time. Lorenz tried to hold still and not panic as they washed lower and lower down his torso. Passed his ribs and belly, then down further until they reached-

“ _Wait!_ ” He yelped as they tried to drag his hands away from between his legs. “Not there! Not there, please! I can do it myself!”

When they just kept tugging, he threw caution to the wind and shouted a few words of Almyran.

“Honored ladies, please stop!”

They froze and stared at him, the quieter one with surprise and the more aggressive with fear and anger.

“You speak Almyran?” The latter demanded in said tongue.

Lorenz did his best to look like he hadn’t understood.

“I doing wash,” he repeated, gesticulating and making his accent as bad as possible. “I can soap! I am has the water? I am...I having washing?”

They relaxed, the first woman snorting and the other letting out a relieved titter. Good, he’d fooled them.

“Fine,” the first woman said, tossing a washcloth to him. She changed to Fódlani for the next part. “Wash good! Or we do, understand?”

Lorenz sniffed. Did they honestly think he didn’t know how to clean himself? How stupid. He kept these thoughts to himself as he tried to turn away and hide his private parts from them. Did these barbarians really have no shame? They didn’t seem perturbed at all to have a naked man in front of them!

At least they weren’t going to force him to let them touch him, ahem, _there._ Thank the Goddess for small mercies!

The rest of his bath thankfully passed without incident and Lorenz even managed to relax a little when the quieter woman tapped him and gestured to lean back so she could wash his hair. He sighed as she kneaded his scalp with thick, slippery oil that smelled of lemon and mint. It felt so good to be clean again.

When every sud was rinsed away, the guards were called back in. The male one gave Lorenz a hand out of the bath, while the female was sent away to fetch something. Lorenz missed exactly what because the first handler had slung a towel over his head and was rubbing furiously. She’d make a decent grappler, Lorenz thought dizzily. It felt like his hair was being yanked out by the roots. Meanwhile her companion rubbed a second towel over Lorenz’s body. He was careful to keep his hands pressed firmly over his crotch.

He was finally given a robe to wear when he was mostly dry. The female guard had returned with a tray and Lorenz’s stomach leapt and twisted at the smell of food.

He stared at her, wide eyed and trembling with anticipation. Were they finally going to feed him? He hadn’t eaten since breakfast on the morning of the mission they marched to confront Acheron. He was so hungry he felt like his stomach was digesting itself.

The quieter handler pulled out a low table and a cushion from somewhere and motioned Lorenz to sit. He obeyed and could have cried for joy when the tray was set in front of him. There was a bowl full of what looked like milky porridge, a jug of water and a small cup of something that smelled bitter. More medicine? Khalid had ordered them to treat him. He didn’t care. He just wanted to eat.

The handler offered him a spoon and Lorenz had to force himself not to snatch it from her and fall on the food like a starving beast. He still ate too quickly to be polite, but for once he didn’t care. Just like with his first blessed drink of water, the food was heavenly. What he’d thought was porridge turned out to be mashed up bread soaked to a slurry in milk. Aside from a slightly odd tang from the milk (this wasn’t from a cow or a goat, he was sure) the almost-soup barely tasted of anything. Lorenz guessed they’d deliberately given him something totally bland so he wouldn’t vomit. It didn’t matter. Taste or no taste, he’d have gladly cooked and eaten his riding boots if he still had them.

When the bowl was scraped clean and the jug empty, Lorenz leaned back and shut his eyes contentedly as the awful, yawning ache in his belly finally vanished. He would never, _ever_ take food for granted again. Leonie had been right to scold him for throwing so much away at Garreg Mach. Lorenz had dismissed her lecture then, but he’d be sure never to do it again when he got back.

If he got back.

Lorenz gave a start and opened his eyes when someone touched his shoulder.

The quieter handler had picked up the small cup and was holding it out to him expectantly. Ah, he’d forgotten his medicine.

Lorenz took it and held it under his nose, grimacing at the bitter smell. Definitely some kind of healing tincture. No one would ever drink this for pleasure.

The other woman was making impatient drinking motions. Lorenz sighed and braced himself. At least it was not a large cup. He knocked the whole thing back in one gulp followed by a full bodied shudder. It was positively acidic. He tried not to gag, wishing he’d left some of the water to wash the horrible taste away.

While all this was happening, the guards had removed the table and empty vessels and Lorenz was left to sit on his cushion, watching them all bustle around him. Cleaning up after his bath and meal.

Now what? They must have been preparing him to meet the prince again, but he couldn’t go anywhere until he got his clothes back. Goddess, they didn’t expect him to - _urgh_ \- wait on Khalid in a bathrobe, did they?

The guards were watching him closely and Lorenz tried not to let his irritation show. Surely he wasn’t that bizarre to look at. You’d think he had two heads with the way they were...

Lorenz blinked rapidly and frowned as he lost his train of thought. He squinted and rubbed his eyes when the world suddenly blurred around the edges, the tiles bleeding together into one misty wash of blue. What was happening?

It hit him like a blow from Hilda’s axe and he sat up straight with a noise of fear and dismay.

Oh no! _The medicine!_ Goddess in heaven, he was a _fool!_ Why did he drink it?!

He shook his head then gripped it tight as if trying to hold his rapidly unwinding thoughts together. The world was starting to swim and Lorenz fought to keep his focus. Who knows what they would do to him if he-

He swayed and flopped over as the world tilted sickeningly, landing with a thud on his side, head spinning and eyelids fluttering. He was fighting a losing battle and he knew it, already so sleepy he could hardly think. _Idiot!_ To just blindly drink some drug given to him by his captors! Stupid, wretched fool! He could almost say he deserved this for being so naive.

Lorenz flinched as one of the guards (the male one? His vision had coarsened so much he couldn’t be sure) bent over him and shifted him onto his back. Lorenz blinked, once, twice, then his eyes finally slipped shut.

As if from far away, he heard the harsher handler ordering them to remove his clothes.

_Oh Sothis help him, what now?_

Lorenz sank back down into darkness and there was nothing else for a long while.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please kudos and comment if you enjoyed, it really motivates me to write more. ;v; 💛💜


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